


Ours

by TheRedWulf



Series: Stansa One Shots [19]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Dragonstone, F/M, Family, Flashbacks, Fluff, Love, Married Couple, Slice of Life, Smut, Stannis is a romantic, Yule, fight me, happiness, married, romantic, stansa, why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21893428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - Canon - In which Stannis muses on the first morning of Yule...Picset is viewableHERE
Relationships: Stannis Baratheon & Sansa Stark, Stannis Baratheon/Sansa Stark
Series: Stansa One Shots [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1405915
Comments: 27
Kudos: 185





	Ours

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of fluff and smut to kick off the impending Christmas holiday! (and Yule starts tomorrow)! While I have already written a few other Christmas stories recently, this one is just canon fluff.
> 
> I think my OTP/Favorite Pair should be work #70 on here, don't you think? :D
> 
> I don't consider myself a writer, like at all, so... This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors.  
> Thank you for reading!

Stannis woke with the sun, as had long been a habit of his, however this morning he did not immediately rise from the bed. Instead, he turned to look across the pillows at the woman sleeping beside him. His wife. His and only his. 

Sometimes he still found it hard to believe that, when his eyes opened each morning, such a sight awaited him. He could watch her for hours, learning more details of her beauty as he enjoyed her presence. 

She was asleep on her side facing him, one of her hands under her pillow, the other outstretched and resting on his bicep. Her slender fingers were curved to the muscle, as if to assure herself that he was still beside her, even in slumber. She slept this way most nights she wasn’t curled directly to his side, her hair spread across his chest like a blanket of fire. So while it wasn’t the first time, the gesture still served to surprise him. 

After all, why would Lady Sansa Stark have set her cap for him? He was nothing more than an older second son, a forgotten master of ships and a ‘dour cold statue’. Surely he was not worthy of the most beautiful woman in Westeros and the eldest daughter of the Warden of the North.

But set her cap for him she had, and once she had determined that she would have none but him, he found it only logical to have none but her. He was, from the first, powerless to refuse her. 

At first, he had believed her attentions a jest and he was unforgivably cold. Several times and on many occasions, Sansa had tried to draw him into conversation or simply inquire about his opinion on a matter, and he had responded as he did to all others, with clipped words and disinterest. He had no desire to be laughed at by a beautiful woman, least of all one whose mother made no secret of her desire for her daughter to be Queen. 

It was not until one evening and after a particularly cold response, that Lady Sansa excused herself from the dinner table that he realized she was, perhaps, being sincere. It was her abrupt departure and the murderous glare of the younger sister, Arya, that had his gut sinking in realization. 

_Stannis stood and excused himself from the dining table, aware of the young she-wolf’s eyes following him as he traced the path that Lady Sansa herself had just taken. He was clenching and unclenching his jaw, wondering how one went about apologizing to a young lady. He had, in truth, never done it before._

_He followed the stone halls of Winterfell and found Sansa in the large library that overlooked the Godswood, her slender form nearly hidden in shadow as she stared out the window. Her black dress, while modest, clung to her slender form and contrasted with her fiery hair, making her look like The Maiden in the flesh._

_“Lady Sansa…”_

_“Leave me” she whispered and he could hear the emotion in her voice. He nearly growled in frustration as he moved closer, grimacing as Lightbringer brushed a table and a small crash followed._

_“Damn” he muttered._

_“It is only my sewing, all is well,” she kindly assured him, facing him as he reached her. “Why are you here, My Lord? You have made it clear that you have no wish to speak with me and I am certain you will be pleased to hear that I have, at last, gotten your message.”_

_“I have come to apologize, Lady Sansa” he paused. “And perhaps, ask as to the reason behind your eagerness to converse with me.”_

_“Do you always ask people why they wish to converse with you?”_

_“No, My Lady” he admitted softly. “But most do not try.”_

_“I cannot imagine why not” she replied, her tone soft and unmistakably sincere. “Do you...I--what I mean to say is, My Lord, do you believe that I am only speaking to you out of some grand jest or boredom?”_

_“Speaking plainly, yes.”_

_She laughed softly, the sound surprising him as she stepped closer and boldly reached out to cover his hand where it sat on the hilt of Lightbringer, “Had I not been warned about your manner, Lord Stannis, I would be offended by such an idea.”_

_He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves as he turned his wrist, rotating his hand so that they touched palm to palm, the warmth of her slender hand sinking into his. This act required more bravery than he had ever summoned during the siege of Storm’s End. It was a small, intimate gesture that would never be permitted between an unmarried couple, but the touch soaked into his soul like a balm and for the first time in decades, he felt the tension in his neck and shoulders fade._

_“I speak to you, Lord Stannis, because I wish to learn more about you,” she admitted, her thumb idly smoothing against the side of his palm._

_“You would be the first to wish as much,” he replied._

_“Then I will be doubly honored” she smiled up at him and he felt weak. While she was a tall woman, she was no match for the great Baratheon height and the top of her head barely reached his chin. He observed her as she took her eyes from his and looked to their hands. He followed suit and watched as her porcelain fingers moved to entwine with his calloused, war-torn hands. As the bases of their fingers met and locked together, he swallowed thickly and wrapped his thumb over hers. Affection of any kind was foreign to him, terrifying to him, but here..._

_“There” Sansa whispered and returned her eyes to his face. “Now tell me, Stannis, who are you? Tell me everything.”_

_He was powerless to refuse her._

Her mother, Lady Catelyn, had openly wept at their wedding and his brother, the King, had beamed with pride. Having tried for many years to push Stannis into marriage, Robert was grateful that he had at long last succumbed to a matrimonial fate, even if was Stannis that had been the one to snag a Stark beauty. Lady Catelyn, however, had hoped that her daughter would marry Crown Prince Joffrey and be Queen. 

His wife would hear of no such idea. Sansa had no desire to be queen, she assured him, but she did have a desire to be _his_ wife. 

On the day of their wedding, he had never seen a woman more beautiful than she was as she took his hands and spoke her vows. He nearly choked on his own emotions as she swore herself to him beneath the heart tree. Her heart, her body, her companionship, through all that life could throw at them. In a matter of a few moments, he went from the loneliest man in the realm, to the happiest. 

Gossip ran wild, the nobility of Westeros whispering that it was the first time they had ever seen him smile, most having been unaware that he was able to smile at all. At that, he would only clench his jaw, grinding his teeth until his wife’s soft fingers would trace across the line of his jaw, silently encouraging him to ‘be easy on his poor teeth’.

As he did in all things, he obeyed her silent command. 

Sansa whimpered softly in her sleep, pulling him back from his musings, her lips twitching as she muttered what sounded like his name a moment before she shifted closer. This time as she settled back into slumber, her lips were pressed against the bare skin of his shoulder, one of her legs resting between his. 

Two years ago, lying nude beside a woman--even if that woman were his wife, would have sent him into an embarrassing shock. He had never been a womanizer like his brother Robert or confident like Renly, and had assumed that when he was eventually forced to marry, the woman would never wish to speak with him or share his bed beyond what duty required. 

Sansa, however, would never accept that as part of their marriage, and now he would never accept it either. They shared a single room, a single bed that had become their haven--their escape. Behind the closed doors of their home, they were not just man and wife, but the closest of friends and confidants. They trusted each other with everything; every secret, every joy and every sorrow. 

Within the gothic walls of Dragonstone, they were happy. Happy, that is, and passionate. 

Even now he could feel his cheeks warm at the shared passion of their marriage bed. Though it had started out as foreign and awkward to them both, soon they spent lazy days abed, simply exploring with curious fingers, lips and tongues. There was nothing they did not share, and in their most private moments, they learned each other in ways he’d never imagined knowing someone--or being known in return. 

He knew that Sansa would sigh when he kissed below her left ear but not below her right. He knew that she would mewl and tilt her hips just right as he filled her after what seemed like hours of teasing. And he knew that his favorite sound in the world was the gasp of his name on her lips as her body trembled around his.

And she, in turn, knew that he would lose control when her fingers dug into his shoulders, that he would fuck her with abandon when she cried out in pleasure so loudly that he feared she would wake he dead. She knew just the right place to lick and suck to have him begging for her, to have him at her mercy.

No, he refocused on her sleeping form and smiled softly, he was not worthy of her but he loved her all the same. 

Just as she loved him. 

“I can hear you thinking from here, husband,” she whispered against his shoulder, kissing him softly before she looked up at him. 

“Can you?” he turned on his side to face her, taking her hand in his own to trail kisses across the tips of her fingers. “What am I thinking?” 

She smiled, “Hmm, perhaps that you find your wife to be the most beautiful sight to wake up to on the morning of the Yule?” she teased. 

“True” he admitted. 

“And that you cannot wait to make love to her” she shifted closer, brushing her hips against his and he quickly grabbed her ass, hauling her closer. “Stannis” she whispered breathlessly. 

“What else?” he prompted. 

“I suddenly find that I cannot think” she leaned forward and placed her forehead against his. They shared several quiet breaths, neither of them daring to speak and then, all at once, his lips were on hers, his tongue delving into her warm mouth. She wrapped her arms around his shoulder as he swallowed her soft whimpers. He could spend every hour of every day for the rest of his days, kissing his wife. He could live on her soft moans of pleasure and the taste of lemon that always seemed to linger on her lips. 

“Stannis” she whimpered as he trailed his lips from hers to her jaw, chin and neck, devouring her in the most delicious way as she panted beneath him. “Please, my Stannis.” 

“My Sansa” he said softly as he moved to her breasts, the full mounds drawing his attention until he could not resist drawing each peak into his mouth. Only when she was flushed from cheeks to stomach, her nipples jeweled and a rich rosy red, did he continue his descent. 

He nuzzled against her stomach, perhaps a bit rounder than when they wed, but no less desirable. Placing a kiss above her belly button, he then traced a few of the silvery lines that he had once likened to battle scars before he set his sights on the fiery curls at the apex of her thighs. 

“Husband” she watched him from the pillows as he parted her slender porcelain thighs, thighs that were deceptively strong, and wasted no time in diving in. Their room was filled with her soft whimpers and cries, her folds still sensitive from last evenings shared pleasures and still just as puffy and pink. 

Her hands carded into his hair, the same black and silver locks that he had once been ashamed had receded so early in life were now her favorite handle, her fingers gripping him as she tried to catch her breath. 

The smell and taste of her surrounded him, increasing his own desire for her and he found his own hips rocking against the mattress in an attempt at some relief from the ache to bury himself inside of her and never leave. Holding her folds wide with one hand, he lapped at her, fucking her with his tongue as he reached to his cock, wrapping a hand around the shaft to slowly stroke the length. 

“I see you, husband” Sansa’s purr had his eyes opening and meeting hers. She smoothed his forehead and hair with a hand, cupping his jaw to guide him away from her folds. “You think that I do not want you as badly as you do me?” she teased and he released his cock so that he could crawl back up to her. 

“I ache for you every minute of every day” he whispered, kissing her softly, uncaring that her juices still lingered in his beard. She sighed, melting into his kiss as he moved between her legs, dragging the head of his cock across her soaked opening. He couldn’t help but smile into their kiss as she lifted her hips, chasing his cock in an attempt to guide him into her. He would never admit it, but he lived for the smallest of things that reminded him she loved him--desired him as he did her. 

Deciding he had teased her enough, he took himself in-hand and moved himself to her core, easily aligning himself. She was soaked, hot and ready for him and it helped him to sink into her fully with an easy thrust. 

She broke their kiss, her back arching and head thrown back as he filled her and he leaned down to nibble on her jaw as her body drew him in, surrounded him. There was nothing in this world that could compare to the feeling of Sansa’s body joined with his, nothing. 

“Gods” Sansa painted, turning into his kiss. With a smirk, she trailed her fingernails down his shoulders and back, his hips reflexively driving deeper and she sighed in pleasure. “Yes…” 

“Lady Baratheon” he sucked on the flesh at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, on the left side of course, as he began to move his hips. He began slowly, ensuring that every inch of him was buried within her before he slowly withdrew.

“Yes.” 

“ _My_ Lady Baratheon.” 

“Yes!” she wrapped her legs tightly around him, encouraging him in his movements. 

Beyond the walls of the master’s chambers and the stones of Dragonstone, the wind and rain were raging in an early morning storm. But he paid them no mind, losing himself to the mindless ancient rhythm and the stunning beauty that was his wife. 

Her cries and the feel of her fingers as they gripped the muscles of his back drove him on and when he felt her body begin to shake, he doubled his efforts, making sure to grind himself against her most sensitive nub each time he filled her. He knew her body well, knew her cries and the way her thigh muscles trembled against his sides, and he followed each one until he felt her choke on a cry, her body tensing as she peaked. 

“Beautiful” he growled against her jaw, watching her face flush and contort in pleasure. He kept his pace, the wet sounds of their coupling reaching his ears as he chased his own pleasure. Sansa’s cries were a muttered litany of curses and please, the filthy words leaking from her lips driving him wild until he was fucking her roughly, shaking the bed with each movement. 

“Please” she clung to his shoulders and that was all it took to break him. His release tore from him with a feral snarl, the edges of his vision darkening as he slowed his movements, pouring into her over and over until he could feel their spend leaking from her body. 

“Stannis” she whimpered as he slowed to gentle, minimal movements, unwilling to part with her just yet despite his softening cock. “Mmm, I love you” she sighed, nuzzling against his bearded cheek with a soft giggle. He smiled and rolled to his side, taking her with him and her giggles turned to laughter as his arms wrapped around her. Her porcelain skin was flushed with pleasure and there were several small love bites, courtesy of his beard and eager lips, the sight of which made him feel like the luckiest man alive. 

“I love you” he smoothed the riot of red hair from her face. “My Lady Baratheon.” 

“My Lord husband” she cupped his face. 

A whimper from the next room drew his attention and he looked to the door that attached the master’s chambers to those of the lady of the house. Were their marriage founded on politics rather than mutual admiration, those rooms beyond would belong to Sansa and he would only join her when she opened the doors. 

However, since their marriage was much more than cold alliance, the room had been refashioned into a nursery upon the news that Sansa was with child many moons ago. 

“I will get him” he said softly, giving her a brief kiss before sliding from bed. He did not bother to cover his nudity, he had nothing that his wife had not seen before, and crossed to the ajar door and into the bedroom. 

The day Sansa had told him that she was with child, she cried with joy and he held her, locked in a state of shock, as they celebrated the news. Logically his brain knew that their marital activities were the sort that brought about the creation of children, but the moment the news came, he was quite surprised. They’d been married less than a year by then, and he assumed that it would take much more time. 

_“Love, Stannis, it is our love that has made this miracle”_ Sansa had assured him and he could only nod in agreement. He watched with a studious and curious fascination as their child grew within his wife. She would describe the feeling of their child rolling in the womb, the kicks and touches reminding her that their child--son or daughter, was strong. 

He was in awe of her, his perfectly lovely bride. She was strong, so much stronger than any gave her credit for and he could only stand helpless in the hall as she screamed, cried and begged her way through her labor pains. 

A warrior, he knew then, he had married a warrior. 

The crib sat in the center of the room, the old piece of wooden furniture delivered from Storm’s End along with a letter of congratulations from Renly when the news was announced. Renly had thought that Stannis would care to raise their children in the same bed that they had slept in as babes. A ‘moment of sentimentality’ Renly said by way of flippantly explaining the act. Sansa had cried at the gesture, though most everything seemed to make her cry by then, and Stannis felt oddly sentimental himself as the crib was carried to its new home.

He reached the crib and smiled down into the stormy blue eyes of Steffon Baratheon, a babe who, according to his wife, looked exactly like his father. Stannis would make a face at this, quite certain that Steffon already had more hair than he had left. Surely it was much more black than his was these days. 

“Awake early on the Yule, I see” he greeted and his son let out a sound of happiness. “Only happy to see me because I will deliver you to Mother, I know” he bent down and deftly scooped his son up, settling against his bare chest. 

He’d never held a babe before Sansa had placed Steffon into his arms only hours after his birth. Afraid that he would drop the child that his wife had worked so hard to bring into this world, he sat as still as possible on the bed beside her, marvelling at the sleeping bundle. 

Like his marriage to Sansa, there were still days that he could hardly believe he had helped to create a son so perfect, so thoroughly Baratheon. But then he would hold his sleeping son while he read missives and ravens, or carry him through the ancient house to show him the unique architecture and ‘scary’ dragons, and he would realize that this was his life. His blessed and beautiful life. Was another man every so lucky?

Carrying Steffon into the master bedroom, he smiled at Sansa who was sitting up against the headboard, her hair loosely plaited to one side to ensure it was out of the way while she fed their son. 

“Happy Yule, my darling little stag” she beamed as he climbed into bed with Steffon, turning to settle the eager babe into her arms. 

“He has impeccable timing, as always” Stannis watched as Steffon latch onto breast to hungirly break his fast. He made himself comfortable beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they enjoyed the quiet morning. 

“He is his father’s son” Sansa smiled, burrowing against his side and relaxing against him, her hair tickling his chin. 

“He is our son” Stannis added, smoothing his fingers over the silk of her bare arm. 

“Ours” Sansa sighed. “Ours, indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
> @the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/


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